Chapter 1: Family History

As I said before, I was able to learn a number of anecdotes about my ancestors thanks to one of my uncles, who had shared a similar curiosity about our family tree. From his notes, I learned that the Franklins lived in the same village, Ecton in Northamptonshire, for over 300 years! How boring that must have been! They may have lived there longer, back to a time before “Franklin” was even adopted to be last name of our kindred. They owned about 30 acres of land and would also work in a metal smith shop. The custom was that the eldest son was always bred for that trade. However, I searched the register at Ecton dating back to 1555 (there were no records before that) and was able to determine that I was the youngest son of the youngest son for five generations back. So I never would have had the opportunity to become a metal smith. Got a lot of hand-me-downs though. A lot of hand-me-downs…

Thomas Franklin was my grandfather. He was born in 1598 and lived in Ecton until he grew too old to work. He retired to Banbury in Oxfordshire with his son, John, who was a clothing dyer. Eventually, my father would learn that trade as his apprentice. My Grandfather died in Banbury and was buried there. His eldest son, Thomas, had remained in their House at Ecton. Thomas left the house and the land to his only child, a daughter, who then sold it.

My grandfather had four sons: Thomas, John, Benjamin, and Josiah, my father. I do not have all of my papers in front of me, so I do not have all of the details, but I remember some things. The oldest son, Thomas, was bred to be a metal smith, like his father, as goes the tradition. However, Thomas was ingenious and encouraged to pursue an education, like all of his brothers, by a local lawyer. Thomas got into the business of writing and reporting and became an influential man in county affairs. Seriously, it seemed like any public-spirited project in that county was led by him. His reputation had still remained even when we travelled through the country almost a century later. Locals relayed to us various stories of his legacy when we came to visit.

 Thomas Franklin was so well-regarded, he even earned notice from one of the leading Lords in the country, Lord Halifax. He died on January 17, 1702, exactly four years before I was born. I remember visiting and noting how similar his life and character was to mine. At one point I had considered that if Uncle Thomas had died on the same day I was born, one could argue that his spirit transferred into mine! But I really would prefer to not press too much on the idea of “transference”. The only death that I know of which occurred on my birthday was a pig named Girdle… 

John Franklin, the second oldest son, was bred to be a wool dyer. The third oldest, Benjamin, became an apprentice in London for dye silks. Benjamin was a brilliant man. I remember him especially because he came to live in our house in Boston when I was still a boy. He lived to a very old age. I don’t remember how old he got, but I do remember raisin-wrinkly level. His grandson, Samuel, still lives in Boston to this day. Uncle Benjamin had formed a shorthand style of writing, which he then taught to me… which I then forgot. I didn’t care to practice it.

Apparently, when Uncle Benjamin died, he left behind two volumes of his own poetry, which he had been known force upon friends and family who would stop to visit.

I was named after Benjamin… obviously. He and my pops were pretty close. Uncle Benjamin was very devout and religious. He developed a knack for attending services of the best preachers in the country. He would then use that ingenious shorthand style of his – the one that I neglected to appreciate – in order to write out their speeches into a book. He produced volumes of these dictations.

Honestly, I really regret not practicing that shorthand style now that I’m thinking about it. Uncle Ben was also very political. When I was in London, a bookseller I’d buy from gave me eight volumes containing collections of pamphlets relating to public affairs from 1641 to 1719. After I took a look at the notes in the margins, I recognized the handwriting. It was my Uncle Benjamin’s! He apparently had left them in the possession of this book dealer 50 years earlier! It’s crazy! (And also a little odd that a man would hold onto someone else’s notebooks for that long…)

The well-respected Franklin clan was an early convert to Protestantism during the Reformation. They maintained their faith during the brutal reign of Queen Mary, when Protestants were persecuted and executed for their independent faith. You know, “Catholic guilt”, and all. Remember, nothing demonstrates “devout religious faith” better than to fear/attack other religions.

During this religious reign of terror, the Franklin family, looked for subtle ways to maintain their faith without getting caught and persecuted. Always practical, they took an English Bible and attached it under the seat of a stool. My great-great-Grandfather would flip over the stool on his lap to read it to his family. He would turn the page and then slip it under the tape so that it wasn’t loose. One of the children would stand guard at the door in case any officials of the Spiritual Court was coming. If that happened, the stool would be flipped over and sat on, ensuring that the bible was concealed. Uncle Benjamin told me that story.

The family continued its loyalties with the Protestant Church of England until the end of the reign of Charles the 2nd. At this point, Uncle Benjamin and my father, Josiah, were attracted to the nonconforming principles of Puritanism. They believed that the structure of the Protestant faith in England was incomplete. More work needed to be done to reform the Church, in their opinion. Specifically, they targeted the excesses in wealth of Church officials, that had been a holdover from Catholicism, as signs of corruption which needed to be purified.

My dad and Uncle Benjamin were attracted to the Conventicles – or religious meetings – that were often often in Northamptonshire. While the rest of the Franklins remained Anglican, my uncle and father settled into the uptight, arrogant, prudish sect of Puritanism for their families. Thanks, Dad.

Josiah married young and then moved with his wife and three children to New England around 1682. Several of his friends had decided to leave England as well. Their Conventicles had been constantly harassed by local authorities. Those meetings were eventually outlawed. So they all decided to sail to the New World where they expected to freely practice their religion in peace. When Josiah arrived in New England, he got right to work. By that I mean he and his first wife had four more children born there and then Josiah had ten more with his second wife. That makes seventeen children in all. That, my friends, is a strong breeding stock that I come from. Strong like bull.

There were great perks to my large family. It meant cheap labor for Josiah’s business. But also it provided a sense of security and community. I specifically remember sitting around the dinner table at one time with 13 of my siblings, all who grew up to be married men and women. I was the 15th child, but I was the youngest son, born in Boston, New England.

My mother, Abiah Folger, was Josiah’s second wife. Her father, Peter Folger, was one of the first settlers in New England. Cotton Mather, the famous New England minister, described him as a “godly learned Englishmen” in his book, Magnalia Christi Americana, which was a history of the church in the colony. I heard that Peter Folger used to compose various short writings, but only one was printed. I had the chance to read it. It had a rather rustic air that was in tune with the time-period it was written in, 1675. It was addressed to the people concerning their government’s hypocritical persecution of Baptists, Quakers, and other Christian sects. He asserted that the various problems in the colony, including the wars with the natives, were God’s punishment for these heinous offenses. He spoke openly and freely, and willingly gave his name at the end of the attack. He chose not to hide his name since he argue his criticisms came from a concern for the goodwill of the community. It was from this story that I learned that the sects of Christianity are like different clocks; they may be all near the matter, though they don’t quite agree..

In order to understand me, you must understand my father. He had an excellent physique: middling height but athletic build and very strong. An ingenious man, he was a gifted artist. He could draw very well and was skilled in music. He had a clear, pleasant singing voice and would often serenade us, after the workday, with Psalm tunes while playing a violin. We all enjoyed this. He also was a mechanical genius, being very handy with a tool belt.

Josiah’s real greatness, however, lay in his sound judgment on practical matters in both private and public affairs. Interestingly, he was never officially employed in public affairs since he had to keep a business to provide for and educate his gigantic family. I think he also knew that the first mistake in public business is going into it.

Regardless of the obscurity of his trade profession, Josiah was often visited by the government and Church officials. They had a great deal of respect for his judgment and advice and wanted to consult him for his opinion on policies and other matters. Similarly, our neighbors would seek his advice about their personal affairs. I remember he would often take the role of judge in their private disputes.

Due to his respect within the community, Josiah would often have sensible neighbors and friends over for dinner. At the table, he would instigate a conversation around a useful or ingenious topic. It was his goal that this engaging conversation would enlighten the minds of his children. He intended to embed us with a sense of what was good, fair, and practical in life. It worked. Interestingly, my attention was so focused on the conversations that I rarely noticed what I was actually eating.

I learned to eat to live, not live to eat. I didn’t notice if it was tasty, or disgusting, overcooked or raw, ripe or rotten. While this is not a recommended approach, it did instill in me a disregard for the quality of whatever food was placed in front of me, which may be a reason for my infamous flatulence. This has benefitted me in my later years since I travel often with companions who had grown up developing more delicate tastes. My disinterest in food quality, that is. Not the farting. Never the farting. Seriously, though, while I may be happy with whatever I had just dined on, my travel companions could get very moody depending on what they just ate. Or maybe it was due to my flatulence and I didn’t realize it.

Like my father, my mother, Abiah, had an excellent physique. She was a resilient Boston broad. Strong minded and tough, she nursed and raised all of her ten children. She was loving but stern and had no problem smacking me about if I talked back, which happened a lot. I don’t remember either her or my father ever having any sickness except the one that caused their deaths, at the ages of 89 for Josiah and 85 for Abiah. They lie together in Boston where I later placed a headstone over their grave with the inscription:

Josiah Franklin

And Abiah his Wife

Lie here interred.

They lived lovingly together in Wedlock

Fifty-five Years.

Without an Estate or any gainful Employment,

By constant labour and Industry,

With God’s Blessing,

They maintained a large Family

Comfortably;

And brought up thirteen Children,

And seven Grand Children

Reputably.

From this Instance, Reader,

Be encouraged to Diligence in thy Calling,

And distrust not Providence.

He was a pious & prudent Man,

She a discreet and virtuous Woman.

Their youngest Son,

In filial Regard to their Memory,

Places this Stone.

J.F. born 1655—Died 1744. Aetat 89

A.F. born 1667—died 1752——85

So now you have an understanding of my family history. It’s important to track the roots before you observe the plant in order to fully understand its growth.